Twisted Creek

Chapter 31

Dillon showed up after school. He said his folks wouldn’t expect him home until after football practice and since he was benched he didn’t see any problem with skipping.

The bruises from the night before had darkened to almost black, but his eyes were clear of the drugs. He was a boy on the edge of becoming a man. I wasn’t sure if keeping last night a secret would help him or hurt him.

We circled our chairs on the porch where the afternoon light blinked bright through trees almost bare of leaves.

Luke asked me to try and draw as Dillon described the man who sold him drugs along the bridge road. I never knew how hard it would be to draw another person’s memory. Police artists always seemed to have an easy job in movies. Dillon said the man was average height, thin, and over thirty.

“How much over,” Luke prodded.

Dillon shook his head. “I don’t know. People over thirty pretty much look the same to me until they hit the old level and start to mold into shades of gray.”

“How thin?”

“Thin. He didn’t seem much more than a hanger for the clothes he wore. I’d bet anything the guy never worked out.”

“Do you remember the color of his clothes?”

“No. It was dark and I wanted to make the buy and get out of there as fast as possible. I drove over the bridge, then about another hundred yards and flashed my lights twice. A guy at school said most nights he’s not there, but if he is, he’d flash back from the trees.”

Dillon shivered. “I almost jumped out of my skin when I saw a small light blink back at me, but I put the car in park and waited. He came up to the window and we didn’t waste any time talking.”

The boy looked up and saw Luke still waiting. “His clothes were dark, I guess. I probably would have noticed if he’d had on white. I do remember his hand looked dirty, black kinda, but not oily.”

I got nothing.

Luke had him start with one feature at a time. Round eyes, thin nose, wide mouth. Jeans, maybe. Dark baseball cap with the brim out of shape. Boots, not tennis shoes, maybe. Dillon kept repeating that he really didn’t look.

My drawing looked like an alien with a hat. The only good it did was when Nana walked by, she laughed.

Luke stood and stormed away, probably trying not to show his frustration, but failing.

I offered Dillon a cookie and waited while he ate. “You’re doing great,” I said. “Most people don’t really look at other people. Sometimes I think it’s more a feeling we get about folks than the facts about how they look. When I draw, it’s usually a feeling I’m chasing, not a likeness.”

Dillon nodded. “This guy seemed more nervous than me. He was downright jerky.”

Luke, who’d moved over to pour himself a cup of coffee, looked up. “Skiddery, like those bugs that skim along the top of the water in summer?”

“Yeah,” Dillon agreed. “You know anyone like that?”

Luke frowned. “No, but I’ve seen him. Could his hands have been burned and scabbed over instead of dirty?”

Dillon shrugged. “I didn’t look that careful. I just remember them being black, like they were caked in mud.”

We talked on, but learned nothing more about the stranger. Dillon finally stood and said he’d promised to drop by over at Timothy’s place before he headed back to town.

“You’ve been a great help.” Luke stood.

“You won’t tell my dad about what I did?”

Luke offered his hand. “You have my word, if I have yours that you’ll keep quiet about this. The only way we’re going to catch these guys is by surprise. Don’t tell a soul we’ve talked.”

“I promise.” He took Luke’s hand. “You know, my dad’s wrong about you all. Dead wrong.”

Neither Luke nor I said a word. The boy had to figure it out for himself. Sheriff Fletcher might not be doing much of a job, but he was still Dillon’s father, and letting the sheriff believe his boy was perfect didn’t seem like much of a crime.

We stood on the porch and watched him drive away. The late-afternoon sun danced on the water, turning it to shimmering silver in spots. I folded my ledger book. “I’m sorry I wasn’t much help.”

“You were more than you know.” Luke didn’t look directly at me and I had the feeling he was a million miles away.

“What are you going to do?”

“Wait,” he said. “And watch. I might even drive over the bridge late tonight and flash my lights. Maybe the bad guy will come right to me.”

The mail truck rattled down the road and pulled up a few feet from where we stood.

“Running a little late today, Fred.” Luke didn’t sound too interested in the mailman’s answer. He was just paying a greeting, like when folks ask how you are and then walk away before you answer.

In the weeks I’d been here I’d never thought about asking the mailman his name. He seemed only the unfriendly alien mailman who complained about delivering our mail and drank all the free coffee he could hold as fast as possible.

“I have a special delivery. For what they paid to get this delivered, I thought I’d bring it out fast.”

I studied Fred. Tall, thin, over thirty, hat. He almost fit the description of the drug dealer. Only Dillon would have noticed his long fingers.

Fred handed me a wide, white envelope. “It says I have until noon tomorrow to deliver, but I had to make another delivery out near here so I brought it along. I don’t like the pressure of last-minute things.”

The mail was addressed to me. I’d seen the return address before: Garrison D. Walker, Attorney.

For once Fred didn’t stay for coffee. “Got to run. The wife and kids will be waiting supper on me.”

Luke wished him well. I just stared at the envelope.

After the sound of his rusty blue hatchback disappeared, Luke whispered, “You got to open it, Allie, to know what’s inside.”

I smiled. Nana always said the same thing. I made up my mind. “It can wait until after supper. Want to join us?”

“I’ll see what all she’s cooking.” He smiled and I knew it didn’t matter; he’d love it.

As we went back inside, I dropped the envelope on the shelf in the old office that had become the catchall for things that belonged nowhere. Duct tape, pencil sharpener, old towels too ragged to carry upstairs.

I glanced at the receipt boxes I’d never bothered to toss and decided it would be more interesting to follow Luke to the kitchen than to clean.

When I pushed the swinging door open, Nana was frying up fish Willie had given us. The old man sat at the kitchen table reading last week’s paper aloud, and for once he didn’t seem to smell.

As always, Luke had disappeared without saying goodbye. I wasn’t sure if he planned to eat with us or not, but I pulled down four plates just in case. Willie and Nana debated for a few minutes on whether to have Dr. Pepper floats or Cherry Cokes for our evening’s fine wine.

I pulled out the glasses and silverware, then wandered back to the store. While I counted out the cash drawer money, I listened to Willie read to Nana. If he was a pervert, he was sure taking his time to show his colors. Near as I could tell, he was just a lonely old man looking for company.

When Luke returned, he’d changed into dark clothes and wore a black Windbreaker. His dark hair and short beard added a look of danger about him. He wore his black jeans and boots like a uniform and his shoulders were no longer relaxed. A man on a mission, I thought, wondering what he planned to do once the lake grew dark and still. And if he were fishing for trouble, what did he plan to do with it if he found it?

We moved one of the tables near the bay windows and ate watching night drift across the lake. Fish, coleslaw, and hush puppies made with sweet onion chips inside tasted like heaven.

Willie told stories of his years at the lake-storms, snakes, and wannabe fishermen doing crazy things. He related the year a bunch of drunk college kids had a party and decided to steal all the boats Jefferson rented by the hour. They tied a string of canoes together behind a powerboat. The rope got knotted up and the students were tossed out in the middle of the lake. “None of them could swim worth a lick. If it hadn’t been for the beer coolers, a few might have drowned. Jefferson and me was fishing for college boys half the night. Come morning, he made them pay twelve hours’ rental for every boat.”

We all laughed and I tried not think of the letter in the office waiting to be opened.

Nana told of her first time on a lake. “It was like this one, only not near as many cabins or people. I had just turned sixteen and couldn’t drive. It was my first summer more than fifty miles from Hollis, Oklahoma. Mary, my sister-in-law, was pregnant and thought she had to get away for a few days. We got in the car and drove until we saw a little sign that said CABINS FOR RENT. She let me go watch the fireworks with a boy I’d met at the swimming hole. He was all legs and arms and red hair. We spent almost the whole night sitting on that cabin porch talking.

“The night was hot and full of the sounds of the lake.” Nana smiled as the memory surrounded her. “He won me that wind chime at a little fair we passed.”

I caught the last of her story. She’d never told me about the wind chime. I guess, since it had always been in her kitchen, I never considered where it might have come from.

“What happened to him?” Willie asked.

Nana shook her head. “We wrote for a while, then toward the end it was just once a year. I know he went to the war after that summer. He told me he was going to lie about his age and join up. I got postcards sometimes even after I stopped writing.”

I changed the subject to how pretty the lake looked with the trees turning. Another month and it would go from brown to dead-looking. I was afraid Nana might tell the story of Poor Flo, or worse, start talking about Carla. Nana didn’t mention my mother often, but since she’d shown up this morning, Carla might be on her mind tonight. Nana didn’t seem to have many stories about Carla, and a few she’d told of late were stories of me that she’d just gotten mixed up in her memory.

Carla’s words crossed my mind. What if Uncle Jefferson had meant to put Carla and not me on the will? After all, he had put her as the one person to call when he died. What if my mother was right? A month ago I wouldn’t have cared, but suddenly losing this place would be like cutting a piece of my heart out.

When Willie and Nana collected the dishes, Luke leaned over and whispered, “You got to open the letter, Allie.”

“How did you know I was thinking about it?”

“You’ve glanced toward the office a dozen times tonight.”

“I’ll open it.” I knew it was bad news. I just knew it. Bad news could wait. “Want to go for a walk?”

He raised an eyebrow. “The night’s cool.”

“I’ll get my coat.”

He waited for me out by the dock while I went upstairs, then faced my demons in the office. I wanted to open the letter alone and steel myself against the pain before I faced anyone. I read the letter, squared my shoulders, and walked out to meet Luke without emotion.

When I stepped close, he offered his hand without turning to look at me. “Where do we walk?”

Pointing in the direction of his place, I waited to see if he’d back away.

He didn’t hesitate. He jumped off the side of the dock, then turned and caught me as I dropped onto the damp sand. The lake was down enough tonight so that the normally muddy beach in front of the willows was almost dry. It wasn’t the direction we should have picked for a walk, but I wanted to catch a glimpse of his place.

I could tell Luke had never taken a walk for pleasure in his life. He marched down the beach as if on a mission.

“Slow down.” I tugged my hand away from his grip.

He stopped, retraced his last two steps, and placed an arm on my shoulder. “Sorry.”

“I don’t see your place,” I said as casually as I could.

“It’s in the trees. After dark, unless I light a lamp, no one would ever find it.”

“Do a lot of entertaining?” I tried to sound funny.

“No.” He laughed. “Last week I did have a possum. She ate all my crackers and left.”

We moved at my pace for a while before I blurted out, “I opened the letter.”

He stopped and turned me toward him but didn’t say a word. The night was cool and a gentle wind whispered in the pines that marked the property line between my place and his. They made a whining sound.

“Garrison Walker wanted to inform me that there would be an inquiry about Jefferson Platt’s will.”

Luke relaxed and took my hand again. “He probably had to notify you.” We walked on.

I followed for several steps before I gulped back a cry. “She’s going to take it away from me.”

“No she’s not.”

I wanted to pound on his chest and make him understand. My mother always got what she wanted. Nana never stood up to her. Even when she’d dropped by for the funeral of Henry, Carla had talked Nana into giving her half the cash we had so she could cover her gas.

“Allie,” he said with more caring than I’d ever heard him use. “She’s not going to take Jefferson’s Crossing away from you and Nana.”

I stopped, not able to look up at him even in the shadows. “Nana will give it to her.”

Luke rubbed his warm hand against the cold side of my cheek. “Nana doesn’t own it. You do. That may be why Jefferson left it to you. Maybe he guessed that you’d be the one taking care of Nana and you’d need a place. Maybe he figured you might be strong enough to hold on to it.”

“How would he know that?”

Luke laughed, his breath close against my face. “Carla said she came by and talked to him. Thirty minutes with that woman would teach a man a lot about what not to do.”

“But she is pretty. She’s always looked like a dress-up doll to me. Everything matching. All fitting perfect. All smelling of roses.”

He hugged me close. “There are a lot of men who don’t care for that kind of pretty.”

“Yeah, Willie.” I laughed against his shirt and hugged back.

“And me,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss the top of my head.

When his hug tightened, I moved into his warmth, needing the solid feel of him tonight.

My arm connected with the cold steel of a gun just below his armpit.

I jumped back. “You’re wearing a gun.”

Luke swore.

He reached for me, but I took another step backward. No lake bum, no fisherman wore a gun strapped around his shoulder.

“It’s not a gun, Allie, it’s a Glock 9mm automatic.” He swore again, realizing he wasn’t calming me down by being more specific. “I told you I planned to go out by the dam tonight and look for our nervous drug dealer.”

“You didn’t tell me you planned to shoot him.” I took another step backward. The man I cared about, the quiet drifter with the bluest eyes in Texas, wasn’t the kind of man who went hunting for another. “I don’t know you at all,” I said, thinking of the dumb kissing game we’d played earlier. Maybe I should have asked if he’d killed anyone lately or what side of the law he walked on.

The pieces of him began to fit together. Willie said he was shot once. He lived out here all alone. He avoided the sheriff. He carried a gun. All he needed was a neon sign saying OUTLAW and I might be able to figure it out.

“Allie. Let me explain.”

I headed back toward the dock. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.” I didn’t think I could handle learning that he’d killed before, or that his picture was in every post office.

If I left now, if I moved fast enough, maybe I could outrun the heartache that I’d fallen for a criminal. The first man I’d been attracted to since college and he had to be a Glock-toting, unemployed drifter. How many “wrong for you” signs did I need?

It took me a few breaths to realize he was matching my steps.

I glanced over. He wasn’t even breathing hard. The guy was in shape, and for the first time it dawned on me that he might not keep so fit just so he could race the moon at night.

“You going to slow down and let me explain?”

“No.” I didn’t want to hear anything. Every time I’d been interested in a man I’d hung around until he cut me up into little pieces. This time I was getting out while I could still stand. What would there be next-pills in pockets, a picture of his kids in his wallet?

“Allie?” His voice was cold, hard. “You will listen.”

Maybe he was going out to the dam to kill the drug dealer because the skiddery guy was moving in on his territory. Maybe Luke had this county sewed up. That would explain a few things, like maybe why he was in my house when we’d arrived. He had to check me out and make sure I wouldn’t interrupt his drug trafficking.

“Allie?” Luke’s hands closed around my arms as I reached for the dock. In one sweep, he lifted me up and sat me down hard on the boards.

I looked down at his blue eyes and waited. At half his weight, I couldn’t fight him, but that didn’t mean I had to listen or believe.

“I should have told you earlier, but I didn’t know who to trust. I’ve been a special agent with the Department of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms for ten years. When I heard Jefferson died, I decided to come home and check it out. It didn’t make sense that a man who spent his life on the lake would accidentally fall in one day and die.”

“You work for the government?”

“Yeah, I’m like a cop only I work mostly undercover. I came out here to see what I could find out, not as an agent, but because Jefferson and my grandfather were friends.” He lowered his head and swore. “I couldn’t believe I didn’t pick up the clues that someone was running drugs sooner. I thought they were just using abandoned cabins for meth labs. I didn’t know someone was selling out here. Dillon could have been killed.”

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“I didn’t know who I could trust. Except Willie, of course. He and Mrs. Deals are the only two out here who know what I do for a living.”

“Willie! You told Willie? What about me?”

“I didn’t tell Willie, my grandfather did years ago. But that doesn’t matter. You stood to gain the most from Jefferson’s death. You were my most likely suspect.”

“What?” I scrambled to my feet. I felt his big hands sliding along my body as I moved, but he didn’t try to stop me. “When were you going to finally trust me? When I lost the store and Carla became number-one suspect in your book?”

Luke had the nerve to laugh. He jumped up on the dock and caught up to me. “No, I knew you didn’t kill him. And of course I let Nana off the list as soon as I learned she could make homemade cinnamon rolls.”

He was trying to be funny. I wasn’t buying. How could I even think of getting involved with a man who didn’t trust me? No, worse-thought I might be a killer. I shoo spiders outside.

We reached the door to the store and he whispered, “I couldn’t figure out how to tell you, Allie. Telling people what I do is not something that’s ever come easy for me. My safety in the field depends on it.”

“How did Mrs. Deals find out?” It was a dumb question that didn’t matter, but I asked anyway.

“Her only child was an agent. He disappeared years ago while working undercover.” Luke forced words out as if each came hard. “I met him when I was a boy out here and looked up to him. He got me the job, then vanished a month later. He was a good agent. When he didn’t come in, we all knew he was dead, but officially he was missing.”

I faced him. “She doesn’t act like she knows you.”

“I know. I can’t tell if she thinks it should have been me who disappeared, or if facing me reminds her that her son is gone. Last night, with everyone around, was the first time she’d even looked at me.”

He straightened before me, no longer with the rounded shoulders of a man trying not to be seen. “I’ve made more enemies than friends, and the few people I know when I’m off-duty don’t know what I do.”

I looked at him, needing time to get away and think. “Your secret’s safe with me, Officer Morgan.” My words seemed to freeze the air between us.

“It’s Agent Morgan and it’s time I went to work.”

He shoved away from the door frame and disappeared into the night before I could think of anything to say.

One tear worked down my face. I was going to lose this place, this home I almost believed I had. Nana and I would be out on the streets again. But worse, I’d already lost what I thought I had a chance of having: Happiness.

Luke had been friendly because I was a suspect and I’d been fool enough to think it might be love.

When would I ever stop turning those corners looking for a better world on the other side?